


The Family Barnes

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Conversations, M/M, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Roman Catholicism, Shovel Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 15:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16370522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: And everything goes reasonably well for a while - the church looks the same as he remembers, the prayers haven’t changed since that overhaul in his childhood, and James doesn’t drop his book or speak when he shouldn’t. Even when he forgets some of the words to the longer prayers, he knows where to look to find the ones he doesn’t know well.No, the problem is not James.It is, rather surprisingly, Grant. Because, halfway through mass, at the sign of peace, Grant turns to the guy behind him and shakes his hand, and notices that, on the other side of the church, right at the back, there’s a dude sitting in a pew who looks an awful lot like-“Is that,” he says, and then he taps James in a way that’s more excited than James would figure for a Sunday morning.He, too, glances back, and finds that-Are you kidding. Has James’ whole life been like that tram ride at the start of Dr Zhivago? Has he been spending all his days with Steve literally a few feet away and always just been looking in the wrong direction, turning the wrong way as Steve passes?Because yeah, in answer to Grant’s question, it is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Cherry and BGD for info on US airing cupboards, NachoDiablo re pushchairs and bottlecaps (notlucy and combo cocker too on that one!), and splinteredwinter for public holiday assurances (although I can’t remember if that’s relevant to this chapter D: Next time there’s a public holiday, thanks, Splint). Thanks Nacho, Petronella and Newsbypostcard for reassurances that I was writing in the right direction, and could stick to my plan. Even if you didn't know that's what I was asking.... :D

James is expecting it, but still finds himself a little in shock when Steve carries him to his usual bedroom and into the en-suite to get a good look at himself. Steve’s en suite has a very big mirror over the sink, bigger than the one in the spare room, apparently, and Steve not only carries him there but, once there, has James stand with his back to the sink so they’re face to face. 

Just as James is thinking he’ll need a chair or something to stand on, Steve ducks down and grabs him in what would be a fireman’s carry if James draped himself over Steve’s shoulder. Instead, he stays upright, so that Steve has one arm around James’ mid-thighs and, subsequently, James’ ass at about head-height. James holds onto Steve’s head with one hand and looks back over his shoulder to see and…

That’s not too bad but he still likes it a whole lot. His ass is the kind of red James has never really seen on his own body, like he sat in rosé and it stained his backside. There’s mottled redness, a couple of clear finger marks and, when James arches his back a little to see a little better, Steve raises a hand and pauses. James meets his eye in the mirror and nods, wondering if Steve’s going to give him a couple more. What Steve actually does it use the one hand to very carefully spread James’ cheeks so he can see how red his own hole is. James goes instantly hot, glances at his own face in the mirror and sees a blush that does all the way to his sternum, but Steve’s gaze, when James finds it in the mirror again, flicks up from the swollen, reddened furl of flesh to meet James’ own.

No bruises. No marks that’ll even still be there in an hour or two. Certainly doesn’t warrant an entire meal in Steve’s bed but, as far as James is concerned, Steve can see as well as he can how minor the marks are. And if he’s still willing to treat James like a king (when isn’t he?) James is willing, too.

“What’cha think?” Steve says, and his voice is very low and James’ dick is resting against his bare shoulder.

James has to clear his throat. 

“I uh,” he says, “I like it, I can…” He nods. “Yep.”

“Don’t mind me showing you?” Steve says and, with James so close, held so tall, Steve has to look almost directly upwards to see him. “Seein’ you?”

“No, I,” James says, “this is different.”

Steve nods.

“I figured,” he says. “Just checkin'. Can you walk to the bed if I put you down?”

James nods again.

Steve presses a kiss to James’ hip and then lowers him back to the floor. And then lowers his head and kisses James properly, mouth open, a gentle sound of pleasure in the back of his throat as his hand comes to rest, warm and possessive, at the small of James’ back.

“Go on,” Steve says, a jerk of his head in that general direction when they part, “I’m gonna shower and then I’ll go get food.”

James does as he’s told, smiling shyly, and leaves Steve to get showered.

~

Steve doesn’t close the bedroom door between them because James can’t see the head from there anyway, and so that he’ll be able to hear when he showers if James needs anything.

He doesn’t take as long as he might usually in the shower, either, reluctant to leave James for too long.

It’s a strange balance between too much and too little, and between Steve’s own paranoia and the person he knows James is. He knows he gave James ample opportunity to tap out, before and during, and he knows that James enjoyed it. While he was actually doing it, he left time for James to stop, he addressed the problem every time he could see one, and he did his best to control each aspect of the situation.

It’s not hard to tell, for example, the difference between bumping somebody’s shoulder and punching someone in the face. These days, it’s not even hard to tell the difference between hittin’ a guy to deck him and hittin’ a guy to _stop_ him. (Steve put an end to more’n a few Nazi footsoldiers and Hydra lackeys acting first and thinking later. First time he hit a man full in the face, full strength, still pops up in his nightmares sometimes.)

So he relearned his strength years ago. Still though, having a human being under his hands was still nerve-wracking, as much as James enjoyed it, as much as Steve made sure he would. Steve knew _exactly_ how much strength he was exerting - at all times. He just worries, that’s all. And he’d had no idea whether James would enjoy all of it. _Any_ of it.

Basically, Steve knows almost all of his fears were unfounded, because they’re both careful and communicative, but he was still terrified because…well, he’s never done anything quite like that before. 

He washes off the gel and the lube and sweat and the various other things that stuck his trousers to his legs and himself to himself. He scrubs shampoo through his hair, which is pricklier since he sheared it back at the sides this afternoon, and wraps a towel around his waist when he’s done. 

He goes out into the bedroom and James is in the middle of the bed, in a nest of pillows and bedclothes. He’s lying on his back, too, and Steve can see, where his body makes an indent in the fabrics, the edges of the redness of his backside creeping up from underneath.

“How you feelin’?” he says, pointing at it.

James grins, stretching his arms over his head.

“Pretty good,” he says. “You gonna come over here and kiss me?”

“Mmm,” Steve answers, and he goes, leaning down over James. “Y’okay with sushi for dinner?”

James makes an interested noise.

“Yes!” he says. “Do you want help?”

Steve runs his hand down James’ torso, collarbone to bellybutton, flattens his palm on James’ stomach.

“Hate to break it to you, kiddo,” he murmurs, “I made it earlier, this afternoon.”

“Awh,” James says, holding Steve’s gaze. “Spoilsport.”

“I believe,” Steve says, in a voice that brooks a little argument as possible, “I adhered to the tingle lube.” James rolls his eyes. “That means you get dinner in bed and I take care of your poor sore ass for a couple days. No?”

“I guess,” James says, but he’s biting back a smile.

Steve leans right down and mouths at James’ sternum by way of a kiss.

“Be _have_ ,” he says. “I’m about to treat you like a Roman Emperor.”

“Hmmm, Emperor Iacomos,” James says. “I like it.”

Steve’s head spins for a second, and then he feels himself smile, shakes his head and leans up to kiss him proper.

“God, I love that you’re fuckin’ smart.” James goes a little pink, drops Steve’s gaze. “I’m gonna be back with your dinner in a minute, _Maiestatis tuae.”_

And Steve really ought to mark it down as one of the few occasions he’s rendered James without a comeback.

He doesn’t take long, goes to the kitchen to fetch the food from the refrigerator and says grace over it when it’s on the counter because he doesn’t really think it’ll be appropriate once he gets back into the bedroom. He really ought to serve it at room temperature too, but it’s not the biggest of his current concerns, and he sets everything out on the tray - sauces and drinks included, although they’re not having saké tonight, he doesn’t want to get James drunk after something like this.

He sticks the _hashi_ in his mouth and picks up the tray with the drinks, the platters, the sauce, then he kicks the refrigerator shut and rolls his eyes when he loses the towel.

Well, he’s not putting everything down just to put it back on, it’s not like James has never seen him naked.

He walks back to the bedroom and walks over to the bed, and James perks up even more.

“Oh, this,” he says, “this I could get used to. Are you going to dance in scarves for me after? Maybe be my attendant in the baths?”

Steve walks all the way to the bed, kneels down on one knee and holds the tray up over his head. Then he lowers it and spits the _hashi_ onto the bed.

 _“Ave,”_ he says.

James looks like it’s Christmas.

“Can I eat ‘em off you?” he says, and Steve looks at him for a second, a little surprised by the question, and then he laughs.

“I mean, you can?” he says. “Maybe we could share.”

“Works for me,” James nods. 

Steve edges the tray onto the nightstand and gets back onto his feet.

Then he gets on the bed next to James. 

“Got duck, chicken, salmon, tuna. There’s egg and pepper nigiri and a couple salmon onigiri if you feel up to it.”

“I mean, I could eat a horse,” James says. “I’ll settle for fish and rice off a beefcake though.”

“You’re atrocious,” Steve says.

“Absolutely,” James says.

But the domestic bliss lasts about as long as the marks on James’ backside do. A couple of hours into the sushi marathon, which doesn’t quite devolve into ‘accidentally’ getting as much food on each other as possible and finding creative ways to clean it up but is close enough, James’ parents call him. 

Steve actually has James on his side when James’ cell-phone rings, and is busy examining the smooth, pale skin of his ass. All of the marks have disappeared, though it’s only been perhaps three hours since the whole thing, and James is pretending to whine about being kept on the bed like a prisoner, when a song starts that says, _It’s a family affair_ quite a lot, and James nearly throws himself off the bed in his haste to answer.

It turns out, James tells Steve mournfully afterward, that his Uncle Grant and Aunt Delilah will be in town this weekend and want to see him. And they live in Canada now, so it’s been ages since he’s seen them.

“You should go,” Steve says. “I can order you a taxi if you’re not up to the bike.”

James blows a raspberry at him.

“My ass is fine,” he says, and then seems to deflate a little more. “We’ll take the bike, if that’s okay?”

~

It's a far, far better idea for James to go home to them than it would be for Grant and Delilah to show up on his doorstep. And it's a far better idea to meet them alone then it would be with Steve, especially given that he hasn’t yet told his parents he’s dating. He’s not sure about how well they’re going to take the revelation, even less sure of how they’ll deal with finding out whom exactly their son is sharing a bed with.

James isn't anywhere near being ready for his family to meet Steve just yet.

So they a little more time fooling around, flirting, eating, but Steve takes James back to his place at around nine so that he can get an early start. He doesn’t particularly _want_ an early start, but he does need to have one. 

“I’ve got to be at my parents’ by like ten in the morning.”

“A travesty,” Steve answers. “Why ever do they expect you to be up at the break of dawn like that?”

They intend for Steve to follow him up so that James can get a goodbye kiss where nobody can see them, but then they’re both in leathers and Steve really _really_ likes that apparently, and thank god treated leather is wipe-clean. 

“Sorry,” Steve says after, sitting back on his heels as he swipes a hand over his eye, then sucks his fucking fingers.

“What?” James manages, and Steve laughs, swipes his fingers over his chin this time. “Jesus, no, _I’m_ sorry.”

“Took you buy surprise, huh?”

“Fuck it’s everywhere, it’s in your _eyelashes_ ,” James says, what the hell.

And so it takes a little longer for Steve to leave than it might have ordinarily, but James gets his kiss (and a lot more besides) nonetheless. Steve bundles his leathers up and takes them with him, too - to save James having to carry them about in case he needs a pickup over the weekend.

He’s in the middle of packing when Steve texts him _try not to murder your family tomorrow,_ but James answers that he’s making no promises and then looks mournfully at his bedside table. Something else he’s not doing is taking his sex toys to his parents’ place, which is sad but necessary.

It’s going to be a whole two days, actually, of not being able to talk to Steve voice to voice. Yeah, he’s definitely not taking them, but he’s also definitely using them tonight.

He’ll pack his tech in the morning, when it’s all finished charging, and he’s got a general overnight list of things he usually packs if he’s going somewhere. Pajamas, underwear, change of shirt, socks, toothbrush - all the usual stuff.

But if Steve’s texting him, that means he’s not on the bike, which means he’s probably home, and that means he maybe has time spare? 

James calls him over the projection dome, and they manage another something that ought to keep him going for a couple of days, as though the memory of the afternoon wouldn’t do that just fine by itself. James is totally becoming a nymphomaniac, and he doesn’t even care.

~

He’s busy brushing his teeth, already in his pajamas and mainly packed, when there’s a google alert about Lea, his favorite ' ~~Super~~ **human** ' actor, and he clicks through to find that there’s some kind of announcement.

The announcement is the season three release date. 

Holy _Shit!_ Season three got greenlit!! He feels his own goofy grin and cares not-at-all.

He laughs, makes a noise that’s decidedly un-adult, and then tries to tell himself he’s got this under control.

But, it’s-

Okay, no James has to pack, he needs to pack and be up early so he’s totally gonna watch all the announcements (and oh my god teasers) on the like forty-five minute journey to his parents’ house on the Metro, and totally not going to watch them all tonight.

***

Oh God.

Oh, God, he’s so _stupid._

He’s bleary-eyed and barely awake when he turns up on his parents’ doorstep, and it’s his own fault. He barely caught his trains in time, barely remembered his bag - honestly, he barely put his pants on the right way around. He tried to watch the ~~Super~~ **human** ' stuff _again_ but it was making him sleepy, and he’d already nearly missed a stop.

So, by the time he hauled himself off the train, he was glad of the slightly cooler air because wow did he ever need to wake up.

His parents’ house never changes, beyond the occasional lick of paint here and there, and even though he’s moved out, has his own place, there’s something about this house that always feels like home. Maybe it’s because he walked to the door every day for years after school, maybe it’s because he’s played in the street with that house as a backdrop to his whole life, or maybe it’s because of the people within.

“James!” his mother says, because it’s she who opens the door.

“Hi, Mom,” he answers, and he smiles despite the tiredness because she’s his mom and he’s happy to see her, and kisses her hello. “They here yet?”

“No, your father’s gone to pick them up,” she says, and she takes his bag off him as he shuts the front door behind him, despite the fact that he’s twenty-one. “They’ll be back in maybe an hour.” 

“Cool,” James says. “Where’s Matilda?” 

“Out,” she answers. “Have you had breakfast?” 

It’s ten in the morning and he got up exactly long enough ago to go ‘oh shit’ and hot-foot it over.

“No,” he says. “Can I grab a shower? I overslept.”

“Sure, honey,” she says, and she puts his bag down by the couch in the living room as he starts to trudge up the stairs. “Your sister’s here already.”

“Her room?” he asks.

“Hey, butthead!” her voice answers, and he looks back in time to see his mom roll her eyes.

“God, the pair of you,” she says, and she goes back into the kitchen - presumably to keep cooking whatever she’s making.

“ ‘Sup assface,” he says as he trudges upstairs. 

She’s dressed in jeans and another Avengers tee - this one has a lot of red, white and blue going on, and James narrows his eyes.

“It’s not for you or him, dummy,” she says. “It’s for Dad and Uncle G.”

And that makes sense. They’re _terrible_ for talking about Captain America but at least, for the time being, they’re more concerned with the uniform than the man. Steve Rogers is a huge topic of conversation in the Barnes household, but they talk about Sam Wilson a lot more these days. 

It’s weird - James wonders how they’ve never grown tired of talking about it. Then again, James has never grown tired of talking about Captain America either, and cannot see himself ever tiring of Steve. 

“Right,” he says, and yawns.

“Aw, too early, Jamie?” 

“Shut up, Rebroccoli. I was up watching the season three stuff.”

Her eyes light up and she uncrosses her arms.-

“Did you see the-”

“NO!” James says. “I fell asleep halfway through the YouTube rabbit hole so don’t spoiler me.”

She gives him a look.

“I mean, firstly, the words are ‘spoil it for me,’ James, at least _act_ like you speak English.”

He makes noises in some approximation of her sentence in order to mimic her.

“Mature,” she says, and then the animosity disappears. “BUT we’re talking about this when you’ve seen them all!”

“Duh,” James says, throwing her a smile. 

He snags a towel from the linen closet and goes in the bathroom, runs the shower. 

Becca must be waiting until she hears the shower door because one moment James is stepping under warm spray and the next he’s in total darkness.

“REBECCA!”

He can hear her laughing even as he struggles out of the shower to open the door to switch the light back on. A wall switch outside was safer, according to the original electrician. It’s a fuckin’ menace is what it is - who in their right mind doesn’t have a cord? And on the inside of the door? Still, the house is almost as old as his parents so whatever. 

Later, he steals one shoe of each of her pairs from by the front door and hides them in the linen closet.

~

He hasn’t seen his Uncle Grant except on video calls for maybe a year and a half. His Uncle calls his dad but, of course, since James moved out, it’s rare that he’s around for the calls. Uncle Grant looks exactly the same as he always has - reasonable height, hair that went prematurely gray and is now white, and a permanent smile. He’s a joker, the ridiculous one of the family (although James’ dad says it comes from being the younger brother raised in the shadow of such an amazing older brother, which is just as hilarious as any of Grant’s jokes). His Aunt Delilah pretends to be his long-suffering spouse and, in some ways, she is. But deep down she loves him more than anything, and they call each other names and roll their eyes at each other and he pulls pranks and she throws her hands up in despair but they always remember birthdays and anniversaries, they’re always the first on the doorstep if anything goes wrong, and they’re always to be found curled up on the couch in each others’ arms by evening.

Plus, Uncle Grant got the balding gene and James’ dad did not, so James’ beautiful locks are safe. 

He’s kind of excited to see him, actually - they used to get on really well when he was little. Grant’s one of those guys who never treated him like an idiot because of his age. If he asked a question, he got an answer. He’s also one of the few people in the family who treat James like an adult now that he is one, instead of still treating him like the child he used to be. Great Aunts and distant cousins still greet him as though they’re reaching into his stroller to pinch his cheeks. 

He’s got one cousin once removed who lives in Spain, for example, whom he hates - one time they came to stay and, after a long list of terrible behaviors, their kids ruined his science project.

He’d walked into his bedroom after school one night to find the kids _and his cousin’s partner_ just _in his room_ and messing with it - the last in a long line of appalling behaviors. And when he’d asked what the hell they thought they were doing, Mateo turned to James and said, “No, no, esta bien, sorry,” in his best impression of broken English, as though they didn’t know they shouldn’t be in his room and hadn’t all been speaking mostly fluent English the whole time they’d been there. 

Worse, though, than that kind of blatant rudeness was his actual cousin - when she’d found out, she’d turned to Mateo and said _«That's why you should lock your door,»_ and laughed.

James, who’d been secretly learning Spanish online as a surprise for his Mom, had clenched his jaw and said,

_“«Step outside and I'll lock it now.»”_

The resulting look of shock on everyone’s faces had been almost as sweet as his mother’s promise, on her return from JFK, that they wouldn’t be entertaining that particular branch of the family again. 

“Blood’s blood,” she’d said, “and somehow she has the audacity to assume I’d take the side of a bitch I see once a decade over the boy I carried for nine months and raised.”

He doesn’t often hear her swear. That’s how he knew she was serious.

But Grant and Delilah? They’re like…Well, James may be twenty-one, but Grant and Delilah coming to visit still feels like Christmas every time. 

He towels his hair dry-ish and puts it up, and then he gets back into his clothes. They still smell okay - he’s only worn them from his place to here - and it’s not like he’s got to pass a sniff-test anyways. What he _did_ do, however, is bring Steve’s cologne. He puts a little of that on his skin after he shaves, and then he goes downstairs once he’s ready, and finds that his mom has made him a plate of waffles.

“Ugh, I love you so much,” he says, slings an arm around her shoulders because they’re the same height now, and kisses her cheek. “You want a coffee?”

“I can get it,” she says, but James shakes his head. 

“So can I, Ma,” and pulls out a chair so she can sit. 

If past experience is anything to go by, she’s been up since stupid o’clock and doing everything herself. 

He makes his mother a coffee, and then pours one for himself and settles down to eat his waffles, which are - predictably - delicious.

~

Becca’s already had breakfast but he gives her half a waffle anyway, and there isn’t much left to do around the house to make sure it’s tidy. Actually, his mother informs him, there wasn’t that much to do to start with given that the two messiest family members no longer live in the house. 

Matilda wanders in as James is dusting the bookshelves, and she hops up on the back of the couch and meows for attention. He takes a snuggle break for thirty seconds to say hello, but then he hears his dad at the door, and his uncle.

“It’s okay, kids,” Grant yells. “We’re here, now, the day is saved.”

Becca makes a happy noise from upstairs, and James goes through to the hallway to say hello.

Aunt Delilah is already rolling her eyes, and Uncle Grant holds his hand out to shake. This is a ritual as old as James is, and it’s the same every time. Heaving a giant sigh, he holds his hand out, goes to take Grant’s—

And Grant snatches his hand back and sticks his thumb against his nose, wiggling his fingers.

“NYAH!” he says, and Delilah slaps his arm with the back of her hand.

“How long has it been since you saw him?” she says.

“Not long enough,” James answers, before Grant can, and Grant looks delighted.

“Ooohoooo!” he says. “Somebody put on their sassy pants this morning.”

“That’s ‘cause _I_ look _good_ in them,” James says, brushing nonexistent lint of his shoulder before he flips where his hair would be had he not put it up this morning.

Grant snorts, grabs him around the shoulders, and crushes him in a hug. James is incredibly grateful for the fact that his family are all okay with who he is.

They have early lunch together and then settle in for the afternoon - those who aren’t up for talking have brought books to keep them occupied, and James makes the first round of coffees for everyone and breaks out the cookies (that his _mom made_ , oh life is good).

***

In the evening, James sits down to dinner with his family primarily because it’s his family, but also because his Ma’s made crock pot chicken and dumplings, with cheat’s lava cakes for dessert. (She cores a muffin, shoves a chocolate truffle inside, then turns it upside down and microwaves it and serves it with ice cream, and James _swears_ that, even though the ingredients are literally a) one muffin and b) one truffle, nobody makes it like his ma makes it) and there’s no way he’s passing it up.

He’s lucky in some respects - he goes to the gym (although he might slightly have been neglecting that lately) but he can largely eat whatever he wants. Rebecca’s the same - sporty but also a great metabolism. His cousins are extremely jealous and exactly the opposite - Daniel’s buff ‘cause he works hard at it, John doesn’t have as much time for the gym as he used to now he’s got kids, and Charlotte’s working on getting rid of the pregnancy weight but she doesn’t like how long it’s taking.

So he feels a little bad. Not too bad obviously because they’re not here and he’s got chocolate so like…he’d feel a lot worse if they were all here. 

“Strawberries?” his mom asks, and James nods, gets up to help.

He’s going to be so full later.

~

After dinner, which was the huge success James thought it would be, and once James and Becca are done with the dishes, they drive down to Garden Pier to walk around for a bit and enjoy each others’ company because, wow, did they ever need to walk off some of that.

They did have to leave a little later than planned because Becca couldn’t find her shoes, but James managed to sneak one back when she wasn’t looking. She and his parents pair off and wander together once they get out of the car - they walk a little faster, and Becca saw Grant and Delilah with cousin Daniel the last time they were on the east coast, whereas James didn’t. So it’s his turn to have heart-to-hearts, and that leaves him with Grant and Delilah all to himself. It’s nice to be out with them. It’s nice to see them, to have them here.

“So tell me about Bucky Barnes,” Grant says, and James winces before he can help it.

“Ooh, died in 1943, best friend of-”

“Aw, come on, what’s that for?” Grant says, but James shakes his head as they walk.

“I mean,” he says, “it’s okay inside, you know? If you _have_ to,” and he rolls his eyes at that point to show his Uncle how obviously long-suffering he is. “But like outside…I mean, it’s an honor, sure, but what if…I mean, maybe Commander Rogers lives near here, you know?”

Grant frowns at him. 

“You think Commander Rogers would slum it in Red Hook-”

James punches him in the arm.

“I’m saying it wasn’t weird when I was born,” and Delilah makes a little noise through her nose. “Okay, it was weird, like, can you imagine if you’d named your kids after the Howling Commandos?”

“James Montgomery and James Morita, you mean?” 

“Yeah,” James says, not missing a beat, “and you could have called Charlotte ‘Jaques.’ ”

“Oh, Gabrielle!” Delilah says, and then she hits him with the back of her hand against his arm again. “Ohh, we should have, why didn’t you convince me?”

“Can we please stop hitting me,” Grant says, but James shakes his head.

“As weird as it was when they were all dead and I was just a baby,” James says, “it’s worse now. I work in the building the Avengers live in. I’ve _seen_ some of them-”

“Are they dreamy?” Grant sighs, folding his hands under his chin and batting his eyelashes.

“I mean, yeah?” James says, like, _obviously?_ , and Grant laughs, shoves him a little so James can shove him back.

“Just like…I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me that. It’s not my nickname, you know? It’s not mine to use.”

“Sensitive kid, huh?” Grant says to Delilah, jabbing his thumb in James’ direction.

“Look, just because you got a kick outta people calling you Cap-”

“That’s Chip!” Grant answers, referring to James’ father. “I don’t get a kick out of that!”

“You mean the man who gets called ‘Chip’ ‘cause he felt bad about being called Steve Roger or Cap,” James reminds him. And because he broke a milk tooth once.

“Yeah, he must be where you get the sensitive shit from-”

“Of course, my stoic masculine husband,” Delilah answers, “who cried at Animal Cops not even-”

“Betrayal!” Grant yells, so loud that Becca and James' parents turn around (and then turn back when they realize it's just Grant), and Delilah shushes him because he can’t just be yelling all the time in someone else’s neighborhood. Grant pulls away from her and starts shouting, “Lies! Tratiory-” 

“That’s not a word, Uncle Gee-”

“Kidnap!”

James snorts.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Delilah tells him.

“You take me twice!” Grant answers, settling again. “Once to apologize!”

“I take you once,” she answers, “they won’t let you _back in_ to apologize.”

Grant kisses her cheek and she blows a raspberry at him, but they settle back into a reasonable level of conversation soon enough.

“Alright, _James_ ,” Grant says, making bug-eyes. “So how’s the job treating you?”

James grins.

“It’s great - I got promoted!”

“That's wonderful!” Delilah says. “Well done, sweetheart, what did you get promoted to?”

James tilts his head.

“Well it’s….like it’s less like a promotion and more like an accolade - I got stuff I’m not allowed to talk about, but it went really well and I was like ‘I did it!’ and they were like ‘you did!’ and like. Yeah. My project is moving up a level. I mean, not…Like, I mean…” James sighs. “I can’t talk about it. But it’s great!”

“Sounds amazing,” Grant says, straight-faced.

Delilah scoffs at Grant.

“And,” James says, and he’s going to tell them this even though his instincts say not to. He knows they’re fine with him, but it’s still nerve-wracking. “I met my boyfriend through work.”

“Oh HO!” Grant says, and Delilah smiles.

“Ohh, is he nice?” she says.

“The best,” James answers. “He’s a bit older than me but he’s so sweet. And he lives in Brooklyn so…”

“Oh, well then,” she says. “A perfect match.”

But Grant has gone uncharacteristically quiet.

“How much older?” he says, and James feels the smile slip off his face.

He doesn’t look at Grant for a minute, steeling himself for the rebuke he’s pretty sure is coming. He’s twenty-one, for God’s sake - alright, they’re older than him. And alright, he’s young, but he’s smart! He was _asked_ to join Stark Industries. 

“Listen, I haven’t even told mom and dad yet, okay?” he says. “We’ve only been dating a little while and he’s…I don’t…”

“James,” Delilah says, “you don’t have to tell us anything.”

“I know,” he says. “But I also know there’s like….like you’ll hate it once I tell you how old he is, but you’ll love him when you find out how nice he is. You know?”

Delilah doesn’t look convinced, and Grant looks extremely concerned. 

“Are you planning on telling your parents?” he says.

“Yes!” James answers. “Of course I’m planning on telling my parents, I want them to meet him at some point. Just…Listen, he’s…He’s one of Tony Stark’s friends. He’s-”

“That sounds terrible,” Grant says. “So he’s either rich and smart or rich and obnoxious, or possibly both?”

“No, it’s, I mean-” he says, and then Delilah comes to his rescue.

“How’d you meet him, honey?” she says.

“He came to the tower and I was around and he thought I was cute.”

Grant’s eyebrows go up.

“How many times have you seen him?” he says, and he doesn’t like the implication behind Grant’s word mainly because it sounds like he thinks James’ boyfriend is only in for a quick fuck. 

Which completely isn’t the case. Now. Even if it had been the first time. 

“I see him all the time,” James says. “I-” _spent two weeks with him_ he’s going to say, but then he realizes that the more he says about it, the easier it’ll be to figure out who he is. “I just saw him yesterday. I get to see him between projects. We go out, we come back. Sometimes he stays at mine, sometimes I stay at his. He cooks!”

Grant draws a long breath in through his nose.

“Projects?” Delilah asks. “Like an artist?”

James doesn’t answer. He just does his best to look caught out. He’s lucky - he’s pretty sure hinting instead of giving proper answers isn’t going to work on his mother as well as it’s working on Delilah - or worked on Becca. He can enjoy it while it lasts, though.

“Oh, he’s famous?” Grant says, and James smiles a little.

“You could say that, yeah,” he answers. “Famous in New York, anyway.” And everywhere else. Does this count as lying?

Grant nods.

“Well that’s fine,” he says, “but what if he doesn’t wanna come out, James? Are you willing to live the rest of your life-”

“He’s out,” James answers, and it’s rubbing him up the wrong way for real this time. “More out than me, actually - we’re waiting until we’ve been together six months before we meet friends and family because it's a relationship that's about us and not who paparazzi say he is so can you lay off? You haven't even met him yet!"

Grant frowns.

"Sorry," he says. "I don't mean to imply anything."

"And I swear," James says, "if you tell mom and dad about this I’ll never tell you anything again - I already met his best friend and he already met Becca.”

“He met Becca?” Delilah says, just as Grant says,

“Well it’s good he’s not ashamed of you.”

“Wow thanks,” James says, but it feels like a joke so he treats it as one, and the tension passes."And yeah, Becca met us for lunch at one point."

“You’re happy with him?”

“You know, it’s nice actually. Bugs me a bit sometimes but everybody asks me that,” he says. “Him included. And I appreciate it. Yes, I’m happy with him. He says he’s happy with me. There are no red flags about him, no quirks I’m ignoring. I said ‘I love you’ first and it took him like an extra month to say it. He doesn’t say it much but he’s got reasons for that, I don’t wanna weird him out or whatever. He’s been really good for me, and really good to me-”

“Weird him out?” Delilah asks, as Grant says,

“We don’t want him taking advantage-”

“You know, he checks in all the time. We’re watching TV or we’re eating a meal or we’re- Any time we do anything. Are you okay, is this okay, are you sure you want to keep going, tell me if you want to stop.”

“Kinky,” Grant winks.

“Consensual,” James answers. “He’s a _good guy_. I want you to meet him one day and, when you do, you’ll know what I mean but for now can you just…just cool it? Just let me have it to myself until we’re ready to tell everybody. You already know before mom and dad.”

“We won’t say a word,” Delilah says. “Will we, Grant?”

“No, dear,” he says, mouth twitching.

“If he does,” she says, “he’ll regret it.”

Grant looks at her sideways, then seems to just accept the fact that she’s serious.

~

It plays on his mind a little, for the rest of the evening. They having been dating for a while now, and it is a significant relationship. They’re into the ‘I love yous’ and spending a lot of time at each others’ places. 

And he knows it’ll be awkward, and possibly embarrassing, but he makes a point, before he goes to bed, to tell his parents that he’s seeing someone. Not only does he feel a little guilty about telling his Aunt and Uncle before he’s told his parents, he’s also not sure that Grant can keep a secret. He knows Grant wouldn’t say anything on purpose, but Grant does like to make jokes and, even though Grant has literally never accidentally (or deliberately) told anyone any of James’ secrets, it makes James nervous. Because this is potentially big - if his mother thought he was trying to keep the fact that he was dating from her, there’d be endless conversations about trust and family and James really doesn’t need all of those again.

When he came out, she asked him the usual things. _How do you know who to love? Can you even be monogamous if you like both?_ But she talked to James and did her own research, and it only took her a couple of days to accept it, after which there were endless conversations about trust and family. Like, he can appreciate it, honestly. He knows he’s lucky. But yeah, please not again right now.

His Dad doesn’t seem fazed. 

“Anyone we know?” he says, and James tilts his head.

“Not personally. He’s New York famous,” he answers, “and out, but like…I mean, I want you guys to meet him at some point but we haven’t been dating long. He’s nice.”

His mother is very pleased.

“I’m glad you’re not always by yourself,” she says, “we worry. And he makes time for you?”

James nods.

“Oh yeah,” he says. “We’ve been staying at each others’ recently, he only works part-time.”

His mother beams.

“And you’re okay for money?” she asks. “I know you work hard but-”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

She hugs him. Plus, although his dad doesn’t hug him, he can see that he’s pleased. It’s been a while (only two serious relationships in college, and the last one ended a good five, six months before he met Steve) and he can see that she’s happy for him. He hopes she’ll be as happy once they find out who he’s seeing.

He does get the hints about safe sex too, as the conversation’s winding down, but heads them off at the pass with an uncomfortable “We use condoms!!” that he blurts accidentally, and they seem satisfied, especially given that he says he wants them all to meet when he’s been seeing him for a little longer.

And James texts Steve that night, lying on his childhood bed in his childhood bedroom, to let Steve know that his parents are aware of the fact that he’s dating. And that he misses Steve. Steve texts him back something more than a little indicative of the feeling being mutual, and James bites his lip. He doesn’t really worry that his parents will walk in, and he’s certain there’s a lot he could get away with, but he’s still got his old action figures on the shelves, still got his old posters on the walls, and doesn’t really feel like running the risk that someone would hear him. 

Which he tells Steve, making sure to also tell him he wishes the situation were otherwise, and Steve wishes him a good night and signs off.

He’ll be up early again in the morning because it’ll be breakfast with the family. After that, church. He doesn’t go to church in general, although his family do and, because Grant and Delilah are visiting, his mother likes for them all to go as a family which…

Ugh, fine, okay. It’s not like James doesn’t believe, it’s just that he doesn’t see the need to attend. He doesn’t know if there is something after or isn’t something after, but he believes in love and equality. Love others, right?

He feels he’s doing a reasonable job as long as he sticks by that.

He’ll go, though - not just to please his mother but because it’s nice to see the people he used to see every week when he was little, and because his Aunt and Uncle are just as regular churchgoers as his parents are, and it’s nice to see them all happy and comfortable. Plus it’s like a couple hours, he can spare his family that. 

And mass at twelve isn’t so bad- at least they’re not trying to get him to go to the one at eight.


	2. Chapter 2

When his mom knocks on his door Sunday morning, James has almost changed his mind. No, okay, he’s not gonna stay in bed and renege on a promise he made to his mother, but he considers it. ‘Cause his bed is warm and his mattress is a little warped and fits him perfectly, and he still hasn’t recovered from his late night on Friday.

But he gets up, drags himself out of bed, he packed nice clothes anyway just because it’s Grant and Delilah.

Grant makes hash browns, pancakes, eggs and cheese for breakfast, and they all dutifully eat as the morning grows brighter, and he’s glad they let him sleep until like ten. (James loves this time of year aside from having to get up when the sun isn’t even properly up.) And Grant’s food is as good as it’s always been, so he finishes his coffee with a pleased sigh after he’s cleared his plate (and also maaaaybe helped his mom with hers).

About ten minutes before they leave the house, he goes to the bathroom, shows Becca where he hid the rest of her shoes, and then they head out together, by which James means his dad drives the car with him and his mom, and Grant and Delilah take a cab with Becca.

And everything goes reasonably well for a while - the church looks the same as he remembers, the prayers haven’t changed since that overhaul in his childhood, and James doesn’t drop his book or speak when he shouldn’t. Even when he forgets some of the words to the longer prayers, he knows where to look to find the ones he doesn’t know well. 

No, the problem is not James.

It is, rather surprisingly, Grant. Because, halfway through mass, at the sign of peace, Grant turns to the guy behind him and shakes his hand, and notices that, on the other side of the church, right at the back, there’s a dude sitting in a pew who looks an awful lot like-

“Is that,” he says, and then he taps James in a way that’s more excited than James would figure for a Sunday morning. 

He, too, glances back, and finds that-

Are you kidding. Has James’ whole life been like that tram ride at the start of Dr Zhivago? Has he been spending all his days with Steve literally a few feet away and always just been looking in the wrong direction, turning the wrong way as Steve passes?

Because yeah, in answer to Grant’s question, it is. 

James’ heart races.

“Don’t stare,” he says to Grant, and Grant gives him a perplexed kind of look, not quite _what’s bugging you?_ , but close enough.

“I’m not staring,” he says as the congregation settles down again. 

He kind of is, though, kind of does - he passes the message on, too, so that James’ whole family (barring Becca, bless her really) is watching Steve go to and come back from communion. Steve keeps his head up, shoulders back, eyes front - presumably from years of having to ignore nosy busybodies while doing the most banal of everyday things - and doesn’t see any of them. Doesn’t see James. 

James is only half-relieved, the other half of whatever he’s feeling twisting unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. He knows Steve isn’t ignoring him deliberately, he just needs to calm down. And not think about the weird beard he’s wearing.

Except then Grant, who’s at the end of the pew next to the aisle, sticks his hand out as Steve passes and Steve, looking first startled and concerned as he half-dodges (a hand thrust out fast at waist level, for God’s sake, it looks like Grant is going to stab him) and then, eyebrows lifting in understanding, looking not-quite tired but very definitely awkward, takes the offered hand.

“Peace be with you, Sir,” Grant says and James tries not to die with embarrassment because aside from the fact that mass has _moved past that bit,_ it's also Steve Freaking Rogers he's talking to.

“Peace be with you,” Steve says back, smiling tightly, that ruefulness settling in his expression. 

It looks like it means _if only_. 

A moment later, he shakes James’ father’s hand. James’ father has leaned past Delilah and James to do it, mind, but he and Steve share the same exchange. And then, in a flash of recognition, Steve’s eyes pass over the rest of the pew - the whole bench is taken up by the family Barnes, but he recognizes James and Becca in the broadly sweeping glance he bestows on them.

He’s incredibly good at what he does, though. His gaze travels over all of them - Grant, James, Delilah, James’ dad, Becca, James’ mom, and he doesn’t register James or Becca until he’s reached the end of the row. Then he turns the double-take into a return glance. James would be fooled if he didn’t know.

Steve lets go of James’ dad’s hand, nods at them, and then goes back to his pew.

“That’s actually him,” Grant says, barely audible but audible nonetheless. “I just shook hands with Steve Rogers! I didn’t know he came to this church.” 

James clenches his jaw, doesn’t say anything.

“Me either!” James’ dad whispers back, and James shakes his head, looks ahead.

“How long d’you think he’s been coming here?” Grant says, and, out of the corner of his eye, James sees him glance back at Steve.

“Maybe he had to move churches when he got recognized at his last one,” James says.

And then he can _feel_ the twin glares of his father and his uncle.

Less from Grant, but his dad won’t have liked that.

No, but okay, fuck that. Steve’s a person. Steve’s a human being and he’s practicing his faith, he’s taking a couple hours out of his week to go do something that _means_ something to him. How would his family like it if people followed them grocery shopping or whatever?

But nobody says anything after that. 

They’re winding up the last hymn though - James is singing even though he doesn’t particularly care for this one - when he sees Grant’s demeanor change, catches someone else move into his periphery. Grant puts his hymnal down like it’s burned him and turns, and James doesn’t need to look to know.

“Sorry about that,” Steve’s voice says, low and calm. “I wasn’t expecting you, please-”

“No!” Grant says, holding out his hand again, great. “No, I’m sorry. You must be a regular here, I’m sorry-”

Steve takes his hand again, shakes briefly.

“It’s just that I know most of the people here and they tend to know me,” he says. “Nice to see new faces, though - do you live around here?”

“These guys do,” Grant says, jabbing his thumb in the general direction of James’ parents and Becca. “We’re visiting.”

Steve nods.

“Ah,” he says. “I…don’t recognize you, but then I’m usually at the ten o’clock mass anyhow. Haven't been a regular at the twelve for a couple months now at least.”

Regular at the twelve? Has Steve even changed his church routine to better fit James? James feels a swell of love for him that’s only tempered by the abject terror of having his family right there.

Steve leans past Grant to shake James’ dad’s hand, and then takes Delilah’s when she holds it out, holds his hand out to James and waits when it takes James a few seconds to react, shakes when James takes his hand. He actually goes down the pew in front to shake Becca’s and James’ mom’s, but he smiles with each one.

“Gotta say, the look threw me,” Becca says, and Steve blinks at her, then chuckles, looks down, away.

“Well, y’know,” Steve says. “Just don’t put any pictures on Facebook and I should still be able to get away with coming here. Long as the pap don’t know it’s me, you know?” 

“Right,” James says. “Of course. We wouldn’t ask for a picture anyway, you’re at church.”

Steve looks a little sheepish for some reason - what the hell does he have to be sheepish about? - but sort of smiles awkwardly at everyone. James can feel his father looking at him.

“Anyways, I should be getting back. I got a couple things to do today,” Steve says.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” James’ dad says. “It really is an honor, Sir.”

“Ah, well,” Steve says, and James can see the strain in his smile now. “We do what we can.”

_Don’t ask him to sign your newsletter, don’t ask him to sign your newsletter._

And for _God’s sake, don’t salute!_

But, to James’ relief, his family let Steve go. His parents even wait until they’re in the car to start talking about how amazing it is to have met him, gosh, isn’t it fantastic - all this time they shared a church and never even knew!

James studiously doesn’t say anything, and he can also tell that his parents have noticed his bad mood. James would like to think that he’d feel this aggrieved for any other celebrity his family decided to disturb in an inappropriate place, but at least they didn’t happen across him in a changing room or a public restroom. But he’s angry - maybe irrationally so, but why? All Steve’s trying to do is live a normal life like a normal guy. How many of that congregation pulled him aside at communion or grappled for the pew in front of him just so they could turn around at the sign of peace? How many people shuffled into his regular pew and then feigned surprise when he stood next to them? How many people cornered him after mass to tell him irrelevant things about themselves?

“I wonder how long he’s been going to Sacred Hearts!” James’ mother says, and James tries not to grind his teeth.

“I can’t believe we shook his hand!” James’ father answers. “Wasn’t he a gracious man?”

“Hard to believe he’s the same man who jumps off buildings and fights aliens!”

James doesn’t really mean to scoff (except he kind of does) and knows as soon as he’s done it that they’re done ignoring his bad mood.

“What?” his dad asks. “You’ve been in a bad mood since we saw him, what’s the problem?”

“He’s a human being!” James answers. “He prob’ly goes to mass on a Sunday to go to mass, not to sign autographs.”

“What?” James’ dad says. “We didn’t _ask_ him to sign anything!”

James knows this but somehow it doesn’t lessen the way he feels.

“The poor guy fights aliens and monsters and robots and whatever else and grows a beard on Sundays so he can just do like one thing without worrying about fans and paparazzi and shit-”

“Don’t use that kind of language please-

“-and we-” _you_ “-accost him in the middle of mass and-”

“We didn’t corner him,” James’ dad says. “We offered him the sign of peace.”

“He thought you were gonna shoot him or something, didn’t you see the way he backed off?”

“James,” his dad says, on a heavy sigh, “ _he_ came over to _us_ after. Okay? _He_ came to talk to _us_.”

“He was being polite,” James says. “And you guys were being-”

“You shook his hand as well,” his mother says - she’s got the patience of a saint but even hers runs out sometimes. “And you know who he is! Would he have come over if he didn’t want to?”

James can’t think of an answer that doesn’t incriminate him. He flops back into the seat instead.

“It was rude,” he says.

“He didn’t seem to think so,” James’ dad answers.

And it’s really _really_ hard not to just say something like _’that’s because you don’t know him like I do.’_

~

When they get in, James goes up to his room. Becca follows him, he can hear her, but he pays her no mind until he reaches his room, and then he shoves open the door and steps inside, and holds it open to look back at her. She looks at him, a question, and he jerks his head _come in_. He closes the door behind her.

“Okay, so wow,” she says.

“I can’t _believe_ them,” James hisses. “I can’t _believe_ it, that’s so _rude!_ ”

And, to be quite honest, he’s expecting her to agree with him. So when he turns around and sees her pained expression, he just about hits the roof internally.

“Oh, what,” he says, “you think that’s the way to behave?”

“Honestly?” she says, in a way that suggests she’s not looking forward to answering. “I think it was awkward as fuck, but he didn’t have to come back over.”

“Ugh, you’re as bad as mom,” James says. “I said to them, he thought Grant was gonna stab him or something! Like shoot him maybe!”

“What?” Becca asks, and James demonstrates.

“Grant goes like this,” he says, thrusts his hand out, and Becca takes a step back out of reflex, the way Steve did.

“Oh,” she says. “But not on purpose though?”

“No, not on purpose, but come on! He’s a veteran! He’s an Avenger!”

Becca narrows her eyes.

“I think you’re…” she says, and then changes tack. “Like, okay it was awkward, but they didn’t say anything weird. They weren’t like offensive or anything. Bucky-”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” he answers, a lot louder than he really meant to, and her pained expression vanishes, replaced instead by narrowed eyes and a tight mouth.

“I mean, if you wanna be an asshole I’ll fucking go,” she says. “You’re just pissed ‘cause it shit you up - you didn’t know he’d be there and you’re still freaking out about it on the inside.”

“Fuck off,” James says.

“Sure thing, dickhead,” she answers, and leaves.

James slams the door behind her, and hears his mother’s muffled voice yell upstairs at him about it, but he doesn’t care.

God, Steve’s a veteran, he’s an Avenger, can’t he just be allowed a couple of hours a week where he doesn’t have to be the myth, the legend, and can just be the man?

He flops down on his bed.

_Jesus._

***

And, the thing is, even though Becca is absolutely correct, James’ point still stands. Steve has been through _hell_. He’s been through hell _several times._ In fact, one of the only things that makes James go and apologize to Becca - other than the fact that she’s right, okay, shut up - is that, while James is cataloging all the many, many different ways Steve has, in fact, had to walk through the valley of the shadow et cetera over hot coals and through walls of fire and brimstone, he gets to, _'lost every single person he ever knew or loved,'_ and realizes maybe he shouldn’t yell quite so much at his sister. (Okay, he shouldn’t be so mad at his parents too but like that’s going to take a little longer, thanks.)

He stares at his ceiling, considers having food with his family, but he really isn’t ready to let this go. Is it just because it’s someone he cares so much about? He isn’t sure. He knows he was starstruck, but he also managed to hold a conversation with Steve. More to the point, it was a conversation Steve initiated. In fact, if he thinks about it, the reason he and Steve got on so well seems to have been because (at least in part) he did the exact opposite with Steve than his family did.

First time he saw Steve, Steve even saw him, but they were both polite enough to acknowledge each other and then go about their own lives, respectfully leaving each other alone. Then, when they did end up in the same place again, Steve initiated the conversation, and James didn’t act like a giant fanboy (even though he was one, _is_ one. He had some decorum for fuck’s sake).

He shakes his head, thinks of the looks on Grant and his father’s faces. It’s disappointing, actually. It’s disappointing that they’d put their own interest over Steve’s comfort. Over _anyone’s_. There’s no way he’s gonna stay for dinner - he’ll make something up, which he will think about later. No, instead, he texts Steve his address, and 'need help.’ He considers it for a moment and then types ‘lol’ just so Steve knows it’s not an emergency, and then starts repacking his bag. After a couple memory games on his tablet to calm down.

~

When he’s feeling a little less inclined to see red at a moment’s notice, he goes and knocks on Becca’s door, and she asks who it is before she lets them in, which is basically the shared-living-space version of screening her calls, so he knows she’s mad.

“It’s me,” he says. “ ‘Cause I’m sorry for being a dickhead.”

“Good,” her voice answers, but he hears movement and she comes and opens the door a moment or two later. “Like I get it. And yeah, okay, it was kind of rude, but they meant well-”

“He’s dealt with so much!” James answers, lowering his voice halfway through when he realizes he might start yelling if he doesn’t. “He’s dealt with so much and he just wants to be normal one day a week. Not even a day!”

“I know,” Becca says. “And it was awkward A.F too amirite.”

“Oh my God, _so_ awkward,” he covers his eyes. “I thought they were gonna start singing the national anthem.”

Becca snorts.

“But he’s a big boy,” she says softly, after a moment or two. “He can handle himself. And Dad’s kinda right, like, he wouldn’t’ve come over after mass if he didn’t want to.”

James nods but looks away. It’s true but he doesn’t like it.

He draws a deep breath in through his nose and then straightens up, tries to forget the whole thing.

“Alright,” he says. “I don’t accept that you’re right and I’m wrong but maybe you’re not as wrong as I originally might have indicated you were.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Listen,” James says, “I…really don’t feel like hanging around tonight. I’ve been to mass with you guys, that’s what Mom cares about-”

“She cares about you, Jabooby-”

“I’ve texted Steve, I’m gonna head off as soon as-”

“What?” Becca says. “You’ve texted _Steve_?”

James glances aside and then back.

“Yeah?”

“Okay so you graduated top of your class at Cornell and Stark Industries literally asked you to join them,” she says, “and yet somehow you’re dumb enough to text the world’s shiniest knight in armor to come to the home of literally the biggest Steve Rogers nerds in Red Hook.”

James feels the color drain out of his face.

Not only was he dumb enough to do that, he was also dumb enough to play memory games and pack instead of telling his parents he was going or, more importantly, checking to see if Steve’s texted him back.

He runs back to his room, picks up his phone - which was still on silent from being in church, and was on his bed from his sulking, so he never even heard it vibrate.

There are, really unfortunately, a lot of accumulated texts. Above them all is James’ severely misjudged text of “I need help getting out of here” followed by his parents’ address - and, shit, he never hit send on his ‘lol.’

And then,

_Sure, honey, I can leave_   
_in twenty, that okay?_   
_Hang in there x_   
14:57   
_Or were you serious?_   
15:00   
_Are you serious about_   
_needing help?_   
15:02   
_Hang on, sweetheart, I’m_  
on my way.  
15:03

James texts back as quickly as he can make his fingers move.

................................ _I’m okay! I phrased it_  
................................ _badly but I’m fine! Please_  
................................ _don’t rush!_  
................................ 15:36

But Steve’s last text came at three minutes past three, and it’s now closer to four. 

James’ childhood bedroom is over the living room in their home, because he was oldest and the room was biggest, and it has a closet and a window and a nice big bed and, although it doesn’t look out over the street, he can see the street from his room.

Which means he hears the motorcycle approach before he sees it, and it’s not usually that he gets a sinking feeling at the sound of that particular engine. He runs down the stairs and he’s about to go running out into the street, except his Dad says,

“James?” because they lived together for most of James’ life, and know what each others’ footsteps sound like. “Come here, please, we want to talk to you.”

Which-

Like literally any moment except now?

“Just a minute,” he says.

“James,” his Dad says again and, shit, _shit_ , he doesn’t have a choice about this - even as he hears Steve pull up outside.

“Dad, I really can’t, can you wait just a-”

“Who on earth is that?” his mother’s voice asks from the other direction. “And why is he parking on our driveway?”

“James, I’m not gonna ask you again-”

James decides there’s no way to put him off except to show him he’s genuine, so he marches into the kitchen, where his dad, his aunt and his uncle are sitting at the table, and says,

“I just have to-”

But then the doorbell’s ringing, and then his mother comes running in.

“Steven, there’s a man at the door,” she says to James’ dad, “he’s pulled up on a bike and he’s come to the door in a helmet, can you answer the door please?”

“I’ll go,” James offers, but this is a household of men raised on stories of a tiny dude who jumped on explosives for fun so, yeah, no, that’s not happening, not with ‘the-man-of-the-house’ literally right there.

“No,” his dad says, with Grant close behind, “It’s alright, Anthea, I’ll go.”

And he does. Despite James’ protests, his Dad goes all the way to the front door and pulls it open, and yep, there’s Steve, looking menacing in his-

_Shit,_ he’s wearing his black uniform leathers - the in-joke ones. And a helmet, with the vinyl strip over his name, thank God, but still.

“Yes?” his dad says.

“I’m looking for James Barnes,” Steve says through the helmet, in his Commander Rogers voice.

“I’m fine!” James yells, just as his mother turns to look at him in shock.

“What does he want you for?” she says.

“I’m fine, I didn’t get your texts but I’m fine, there’s no emergency, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“James,” says his dad, but then Steve turns his head and says,

“Disengage emergency standby Jarvis,” and James closes his eyes a second. 

Wow he fucked up.

“Who is this, and why is he looking for you?” James’ dad asks, just as him mom says,

“What on earth have you done?”

But then his Uncle Grant, who’s standing by the front window says, 

“Holy shit,” quietly, and then, “holy shit, I know that bike!”

And James comes to stand next to his dad, ducks under his arm to get between Steve and his dad, facing into the house.

“Dad, can you just chill out a second please?”

“Who the hell is-”

“It’s Captain America,” Grant says, James hears him. “That’s Steve Rogers.”

There is a very long, very silent silence. James closes his eyes because it was nice while it lasted, this whole not-being-in-trouble thing. Then he hears Steve moving behind him, hears the snick of a helmet buckle and the soft sound of fabric and plastic over leather and skin as he removes the helmet.

For a second, James’ dad just gapes, mouth open, looking up because Steve is taller than all of them, eyes wide, stunned silence. And then he looks at James and says,

“What do you mean you _didn’t get his texts!?”_

~

As first meetings go, it’s not as terrible as it could have been. It could have been in the middle of a hostage situation, for example. James could have been dangling from Stark Tower, his parents could have been downtown during an alien invasion. But, aside from the fact that Steve’s shaved his weird beard and his helmet hair is absolutely adorable today, James’ only consolation from the whole thing is that it could have been worse. Although, not much.

Steve shakes hands again with each stunned member of the family, and James’ dad makes the introductions. He introduces himself as ‘Chip,’ presumably because having two Steves in the house - when one is simultaneously named after _and older than_ the other - would be confusing. He introduces James’ mom, too, because she’s standing there stunned, and Grant is only a little less awkward as fuck, still just as starstruck as he was this afternoon in church. Delilah isn’t quite as taken, managing a polite introduction herself, and Becca drops herself in it, presumably out of solidarity, when their Dad introduces her.

“Hello,” Steve says, holding out a hand to her, but her mouth twists.

“Knock it off, Steve,” she says, going in for a hug. “I already met him, Dad.”

James’ Dad splutters just a little.

“When?” he says. “Are you working with him?” 

But Steve looks to James for confirmation, and James’ll be damned if he’s going to make Steve take the fall on this one. 

“Mom,” he says, “Dad, Grant, Delilah. This is my boyfriend. Steve.”

And wow, if James thought the silence had been resounding on the front porch…

~

Becca makes the coffee for everyone, because Steve accepted out of politeness, and because she’s the only one who doesn’t either want or need to be in the main room right now. James told her to bring cookies too because they make everything better. Right? Please?

Steve looks ridiculous in their house. His hair brushes the doorframe and his shoulders fill it, his legs look too long for the couch. He’s taken off the motorcycle jacket and hung it on the hooks by the door, and he left his boots there too (of course) so he sits on the couch in a white tee, black leather pants, and white socks, and James sits next to him so that nobody else can get into his personal space.

“How long have you been seeing James?” James’ dad asks.

“Dad,” James says, but Steve shakes his head.

“It’s alright, James,” he says, holds out a hand for James to take, which he does, rubs his thumb over James’ knuckles. “We had our first date on May fifteenth. I’d met him a couple of times before that, the first time being April seventh, when I’d needed tech support.”

“He fixed something for you?” James’ mom asks.

“No, but he happened to be fairly close to the person who did. We met again by coincidence at my favorite in-tower coffee bar on the Friday of that week, and hit it off, and then we saw a little more of each other.” James tries not to turn pink. They saw a _lot_ of each other. “By the time it had been about a month since we met, I asked him on a date.”

“That’s it?” his dad asks, and James gives him a look. 

“With all due respect, Mr Barnes,” Steve answers, “I’m not certain how much information James would like me to give you, as we haven’t talked yet about how we planned to introduce me to you. I can give you the short version -we met on April seventh, began dating May fifteenth, and we’ve been together since then. I’m out, but we aren’t making our relationship public until we’re a little more secure in it. The plan was to tell most of our friends and family round about the six month mark, but he’s met a few of my friends already.”

“You were going to wait _six months_?” his mom says, and James looks at her.

“Yeah,” he says. “We were going to make sure we were in a long term relationship, and then tell the people we cared about we were in a long-term relationship, and then talk about whether we wanted the rest of the world to follow us around for the rest of our lives.”

“James,” Steve says, so softly that his parents might not even hear it, and then: “I didn’t mean any disrespect by keeping it between us, nor did James. But as I told James when we first spoke about dating, I’m well known both as an Avenger, and as a figurehead for one of the denominations of the queer community. There are a lot of eyes on me at all times, and anyone dating me has to be comfortable with _everyone_ knowing who they are and what they are to me. It’s not just that your colleagues and friends and family will know - anyone who conducts an Internet search for me will be able to look at your picture, anyone who knows your name will be able to look up information about you. A large portion of the world will know your name and status, and that includes people who bullied you in High School and people who’ll heckle you on public transport. And the names of friends and family will come up to. Besides which, that fame will not disappear even should the relationship end. While it’s true that the Park Avenue clause provides some privacy these days, James and I haven’t discussed it at length before.” Here, he looks at James. “We’re hoping to keep our relationship private for a while yet.”

“As long as that’s the only reason,” his mom says.

James wants the ground to open up and swallow him. 

“It’s one of two,” Steve says, “the second is that my friends aren’t…conventional. He’s met some of ‘em - Wanda, Sam, Clint-”

“You met _Captain America?”_ Grant mutters, and James cringes internally because if _he_ heard, then Steve certainly did - and he sees Delilah tap him with her toe by way of telling him to shut up.

“-but I’d rather spare him from some of my more…intense friends until he’s a little more comfortable in our relationship.”

“As long as you’re not ashamed of him,” his mom says, and it’s not a question but it does require an answer.

“Ma!” James tells her, and Steve squeezes his fingers.

“Mrs Barnes, your son is one of the most intelligent people I’ve met at Stark Industries,” James’ insides get squirmy the way they always do when someone compliments him. “You’ll recall your family was background checked when James first joined the company - it’s because James’ department is one of a few departments whose participation in the technological revolutions made at SI are crucial to the development of classified technology. In other words, your son’s work keeps me and my friends alive, and him and his friends at the forefront of technological advancement - not to mention the fact that he’s one of few people to speak to me like a person during our first interactions, rather than a commanding officer or a rockstar. Also not to mention the fact that I love him.”

“You,” she says, evidently about to repeat his statement incredulously - she thinks better of it, and James is glad. He’s not sure he could forgive her for that one. “And what would you do if I forbade you from dating our son?” 

James tenses. Steve frowns.

“Ma’am, as much as I’m hoping that one day you’ll be as much family to me as James is,” Steve says, “if you forbid your son from seeing me, _and he agrees,_ none of you will ever hear from me again. But James is twenty-one, which means he makes his own decisions. He's dating me, which means I abide by his choices. And I would never ask him to choose between us.”

His Ma looks Steve up and down.

“How do you plan to keep James safe?”

Steve lets go of James’ hand and sits forward.

“There are five types of alarm in the tower,” he says, counting them on his fingers, “two for Avengers, three for emergency situations - plus an emergency evacuation chute and underground bunkers. That’s if something happens during the day. There are also on-site medical services, evac routes, panic rooms, emergency equipment available and, for the time being, the only people who know he’s dating me are the people we’ve told, so he’s not at risk from kidnappers. He does, however, possess a StarkPhone that’s linked to my personal network, and the tower’s integral security system. If he’s in trouble, he can shout ‘help’ at his phone, and emergency services will be dispatched to his location. Or, if it's trouble enough, _I_ will.” He glances back and James feels his eyebrows raise. “Plus I’m trying to get him to carry a tracker.”

James narrows his eyes.

“Traitor,” he murmurs.

“That sounds like a good idea,” his dad says.

“Are there any other questions you have regarding my relationship with James?”

“Just the one,” James’ dad says, and James knows what it’s going to be - would bet Steve knows too. “How old are you?”

Steve lifts his head up, squares his shoulders. 

“Sir, I am forty-two years old, or comin’ up a hundred’n ten pretty soon.”

James’ Dad just stares at him for a long few moments.

“You’re younger than me,” his dad says, “but not by much.”

“No, Sir,” he answers. “I’m closer to your age than to James’.”

His parents look at each other and then back at him and Steve.

“Right,” his mom says. “Well it’s…” she frowns a little. “It’s nice to meet you.”

James’ dad nods.

“Yes,” he says. “Uh, welcome to…welcome.”

Steve smiles a little.

“Thank you,” he says.

~

But the thing is that the greatest tacticians in history can tell you that a good plan is divide and conquer. For a while Steve enjoys good coffee and amazing cookies, and they talk a little about where Steve lives and what Steve likes, about James’ parents’ histories and how they met, about a few questions Grant has regarding this theory he read in a book by a dude from Harvard about whether a push into enemy territory in 1944 was actually the best plan.

And then James’ mom says,

“Would you come help me with the salad for dinner?” to James, and James looks at Steve, who looks at him.

Steve smiles a little, small and rueful again - they both know what’s going on. Steve tilts his head just a little - _go on_ \- and James leans in and kisses his cheek before he gets up.

“Sure,” James says. 

He knows it isn’t permanent - that he’ll see Steve in like five minutes or whatever - but it still feels like walking the plank.

And then he follows his mom into the kitchen.

~

Steve knows what’s going on and he won’t get anywhere feigning ignorance. So he waits until James and Mrs Barnes have left, and looks to Mr Barnes.

“Would you like a word with me in private, Sir?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Mr Barnes, and Steve nods, stands. 

“Of course not,” he says. “Where would you like me to go?”

“We’ll go in the garden,” he says, “it’s not too cold this time of day.”

Steve is not concerned. He meant what he said about his relationship with James. He won’t make James choose, and he’ll respect James’ decisions. James’ decisions are the only ones he’ll respect though, if it really comes down to it.

Mr Barnes allows him to retrieve his boots and then directs him through the door in back of the house, and Steve goes back outside into the very-early-fall air. Mr Barnes doesn’t follow him for a couple of moments and, when he does join Steve, he’s obviously detoured via the kitchen, because he’s holding two beers and a bottle opener.

Steve holds out a hand for them, and Mr Barnes hands him one. He takes the cap off with his hand and hands it back, and Mr Barnes pauses, puts his bottle opener down on the table, then hands him the second one and takes a swig of the first.

“So what do I call you?” he says, brushing the first leaves off the garden table.

“Steve,” Steve answers, opening his own beer. “Please.”

“Then you can call me Chip,” he says, and takes a seat on one of the garden chairs.

It hasn’t rained recently, it’s just cold, and so Steve takes a seat too, a little tentatively, just in case Mer Barnes, just in case Chip, doesn’t want him to. When they’re both sitting down, Chip says,

“I’m gonna ask you some awkward shit.”

Steve nods.

“I’ll answer for myself, Sir, but you’ll need to ask your son for his own answers.”

“I’m sure his mother will,” Mr Barnes says, seemingly unconcerned. “I don’t need the details of what you do, nor am I too thrilled about the age gap, but what I wanna know is, are you safe with him?”

Steve considers what he wants to say. He needs to be concise but polite, and he needs to put it across in a way that isn’t off-putting. He’s trying to get James’ parents on-side for goodness sake. And it’s very, _very_ difficult not to think of this guy as ‘George’ even though he knows George Barnes has been dead for decades. That's what addressing a 'Mr Barnes' does to him, he guesses - he'll speak to his therapist.

“I get tested every time I see someone new, and every time I stop seein’ someone,” Steve says, settling his forearms on the plastic tabletop. “I’m clean, I’m monogamous, and I had not had a relationship for months before I met your son. I abide by safe sex practices and do my best to speak whenever possible about whatever happens to be going on. Therapy taught me to talk - you don’t get nowhere if you ain’t willin’ to say so.”

Mr Barnes stares at him for a moment or two, breeze whispering through the trees.

“What are your intentions with my boy?”

Steve doesn’t need to think about this one.

“Your son is kind, compassionate and intelligent. I don’t partake in casual relationships, I’m hoping James will be my long-term partner. This is something we have discussed.”

“And what did you decide on?”

Steve smiles a little to himself.

“We’ve decided to try and be long-term partners.” 

“How long term is long term?” Mr Barnes asks, and Steve tilts his head.

“We haven’t defined a timescale,” Steve says, “but I’m certainly not looking for anyone else.”

Mr Barnes takes another swig of his beer, glances over at a swing-set that looks ancient.

“ _He_ might.”

Steve nods.

“Yes, Sir,” he says. “But that’s beyond both our control.”

Mr Barnes frowns, looks away for a second or two.

“You mentioned a tracker?”

“It would depend,” Steve says, sitting back in his chair a little. “There’s one in his phone that he knows about, one in his wallet that he knows about. I could sew a couple into his favorite clothes if he agrees. The fact of the matter is, yeah, they’re more effective when they’re subcutaneous, but that’s only helpful _until_ you wind up dealing with people who’ll take it out regardless. That’s why I recommend transferable trackers.”

Mr Barnes nods.

“Yeah, I guess so. Like those guys who steal biometrically-keyed cars by takin’ fingers.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve says because, yeah, he’s heard of that. “That’s the last thing we want.”

Biometrics are all well and good as long as you don’t use a portion that can be removed - Hawkeye’s a good advocate for that one.

“What about you, then, you have one?”

“I’ve got one in each suit, and I swallow one before each mission,” Steve says. “I have them in other items also, but there’s only so much I’m supposed to tell you.”

“How often would you say you’re out of the country?”

Steve squints. That’s a good one, actually, he’s got no idea.

“I can’t say for certain?” he says. “But I work on a timetable. Most of my commitments are voluntary and in-country - shows, interviews, rallies, et cetera. But they’re usually around New York regardless. I have more time off than I do on duty, and the only time all Avengers are pulled in to work together is in the event of a dire emergency that requires extra people. ”

“Like that China thing a few months ago,” Mr Barnes says.

“Exactly,” Steve nods.

“See the thing is,” Mr Barnes tells him, “as far as I’m concerned, you’re the most admirable man in America - I was raised to think so, and I’ve never seen you say or do anything that’d indicate otherwise. James had your posters when he was younger because of who you are - because you’re someone like him.”

It takes Steve a second to click.

“Bisexual?” he says.

“Bisexual,” Mr Barnes answers. “But part of me can’t reconcile it. I know you’re a good man, I’ve seen it. It’s an honor to meet you and James ain’t a fool. But he’s young, and you’re not as young as you used to be, _and_ you’ve lived a hell of a life so far.”

Steve nods, takes a long draught of his beer and rests the bottle on his thigh.

“Well, firstly, thank you,” he says. “As for our ages, the thought has crossed my mind. Both our minds, actually.”

“You understand,” Mr Barnes says, “It’s weird to me, but I’m trying to get my head around it. If he cares about you and you care about him, I don’t see any reason to stop you. I…wouldn’t necessarily have chosen you for him, but then I might have if you were fifteen years younger, so why should now be any different?”

Steve looks at him carefully, doesn’t say anything.

“I think that,” Mr Barnes says, “as long as you’re kind to him, fair to him…If you make him happy, I’ll work at being fine with it.”

Steve nods.

“Yes, Sir,” he says. “Thank you, Sir.”

He can live with that.

~

His mom looks like she’s about to faint or start yelling or one of those two.

“How long have you been together?” she says, and then shakes her head. “No, he told us that, didn’t he? But…” she looks pained, winces, shakes her head again. “James, he’s twice your age.”

“I know that, Ma,” James says. “It’s one of the first things we talked about.”

“And he’s an _Avenger._ Right? What happens when he gets injured, did you think of that?” 

“He’s already been injured while we’ve been dating, mom, you remember the news about that big dam in China?”

She nods, chews her lip. 

“James, if you were ten years older, I…I mean, it wouldn’t be usual but it might at least make a little more sense - you’re coming from different places. You’re barely out of college, James, I don’t doubt that he means well. We all know who he is, we know. But you’re twenty-one. You’re still going out with friends and you’re getting started in your career and there’s so much that you don’t need to worry about yet. Like, James, children. What if you want children? What role would he be able to play in that? Or if he’s injured-”

“Ma-”

“You need to think about it-”

“Ma, we’ve been dating less than six months. He’s a good guy, he always, always checks in with me, whatever we’re doing. He’s clean, if he could even catch anything, and he cares about me like, Ma, bedroom, swimming pool, kitchen, living room, he always makes sure I’m okay. And children aren’t a deal-breaker for him. I don’t want kids yet, if at all - like, I don’t know! But it’s not something I need to worry about yet. And if he’s injured, he gets the best medical care in the world. If something happens to him, I’ll be-” James swallows hard “-taken care of. Okay?”

“James, the money-”

“I don’t mean the money. I mean his friends care about him and they care about me.”

“And you’re,” she says, and she still looks pained. “James, he’s obviously a very fit, active young— active _man._ And I know you do things as well but how important will what you want be to him? He has a job to do - which will come first-”

“Ma, I’m really, listen,” James says, covers her hand with his, “Ma, I love you so much and I know I’m young, and I know you’re only asking ‘cause you care but we’ve _talked_ about this. Okay? We’ve talked about it. He doesn’t sleep around - he’s that thing I told you about. Demi. Remember?”

“I-I don’t, I know _asexual_? Is it like that?”

James softens a little. She’s always tried to learn the words, always tried to keep up with changing definitions. He knows it wasn’t easy for her generation to learn and accept the language as it changed, but she’s tried her damnedest and he loves her so much for it.

“I mean, a little,” he says, “it’s okay. First, he’s like me - he’s bisexual, he likes men and women. Okay? But he’s also Demisexual, which is where you can’t…” oh, right, he’s going to have to talk to his mom about his sex life. “I shouldn’t be the person to tell you this about him, ‘cause it’s up to the person who _is_ something to tell other people.”

“Right,” she says. “Like not outing someone, you told me.”

“Yeah,” James says, “but I’m trusting you never to tell a soul about this because I want you to understand something. Demisexual means you don’t- means you’re not… _sexually_ attracted to someone unless you form an emotional connection. Okay? That’s Steve - he likes men and women but only if he really really cares about them. Okay?”

She scrapes her teeth over her lip, searches James’ face and then looks down at their hands.

“And he says kids aren’t a deal-breaker. If something happens to him, there are emergency protocols and there are places we can go, and if I lose him, his friends are good people. Okay? His job has to come first, and I know that, but he’ll put me first whenever he can - he’s proven it already. I know I’m only twenty-one but I know what it feels like to care this much about someone.”

“And what if you continue to grow and you change, James? What then?”

James tilts his head and looks at her.

“Ma, if we fall out of love, we won’t stay together. It’s not like I’ll stop loving him but care too much about the view from his floor.”

His mother extracts her hand and sits back on her chair, staring into the middle distance.

“James, it’s a risk. And I know you think you’ve thought it through but there could be so much ahead of you that you can’t plan for.”

“Yeah,” James says. “But with any luck we’ll be facing it together. Come on, Ma, give him a chance, you know who he is.”

“I do,” she says, nodding slowly, brushing her hands over her skirt to straighten it. “I know. I just worry - you’re still my baby and all of that mom stuff, and I, I just want what’s best for you.”

James shrugs.

“I mean,” he says, “you kinda lucked out, then, ‘cause if anyone’s a good enough guy to treat me right, it’s Steve.”

She looks at him, really looks at him.

“You’re dating Steve Rogers,” she says. 

“I am,” James says. “He makes me happy.”

She nods very, very slowly.

“That’s all I ask, really,” she says. “It’s just new, that’s all.”

“I know, Ma,” he says, and he reaches out, squeezes her close. “You get used to it.”

She smiles, puts her arms around him, too.

“I love you,” she says, and he kisses her hair ‘cause he’s taller than her now. 

“I love you too, Ma.”

~

Steve and James’ dad come back inside when James’ dad has finished his beer. Steve hands his - which is still mostly full - to James, who takes it, because Steve’s going to be driving home later. He gets a little thrill out of not wiping the neck of the bottle before he drinks.

“I thought it doesn’t affect you,” James says, leaning into him.

Steve rolls one shoulder in a shrug.

“No point me drinkin’ it then, is there?” he says, with a small smile.

James’ dad has moved on from ‘what do you want with my son’ and has graduated to war stories along with Grant - interspersed with cooking tips with Delilah. Matilda hops up onto the arm of the couch and meows, and Steve strokes her tiny body with his huge hands, chucks her tiny chin with his huge knuckles, rubs her tiny temples with his huge fingers. She purrs like a mountain lion and curls up impossibly on _one_ of his knees after sniffing the leather pants for like five whole minutes, and Steve seems to love the fact that one of her defining features is she meows like she’s got a sore throat and a bone to pick. But, although Steve’s settled on the couch again and actually seems relaxed about it, James isn’t so pleased. 

He remains not-pleased until everyone gets up to go and ‘help with dinner,’ which is probably just code for giving them space. The house, after all, seems tiny when it’s got a Steve Rogers in it.

“Whassamatter, sweetheart?” Steve murmurs, dropping his arm from the back of the couch to wrap it around James’ shoulders, pulling him close.

James goes, lets himself be squished and ignores the way Steve’s leather pants squeak.

“I don’t like that they talk to you like you’re a professor. Or a museum guide.”

“Aw, honey,” Steve sys, but his smile is teasing, and it rubs James the wrong way.

“No, listen,” James says. “You were at _church_ this morning. You were just doing your own thing, living your life, and then Uncle Grant-”

“Yeah,” Steve says, grinning. “I mean, could’a been worse - I thought he was comin’ in to stab me.”

If that’s a joke, James doesn’t find it funny.

“I know,” he says. “I could see. And it was nice of you to come over after but you shouldn’t have to!”

Steve’s smile fades a little.

“I didn’t _have_ to, James, I-”

“You’re too polite,” James tells him. “You’re too nice, what if my Uncle Grant had been trying to kill you?”

Steve looks down at James, studies his face. 

“In a church in Brooklyn?” He rubs James’ upper arm with his palm, and holds him a little tighter. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he says again, but more carefully this time, slower. 

James bites the inside of his cheek.

“I-I don’t…” he says. 

“It’s okay,” Steve says, free hand finding one of James’ hands. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re fine, take your time. We’re okay, what’s wrong? Really wrong?”

James shakes his head.

“Not now,” he says.

~

Dinner is burgers, with trifle for dessert. James doesn’t know why his mom buys so much food, but he’s glad she does, because it means there’s enough that they can invite Steve for dinner. 

He protests at first, of course he does, but James meets his gaze and gives him the puppydog eyes, and so they settle at the dining table because his mom literally won’t let Steve near to help.

“You’re a guest,” she says. 

“That’s the point, Ma’am, you’re doing all this, least I can do is help-”

“Excuse me, Commander,” she says, carefully moving the tray he was going to take from her so that it’s just out of his reach. “Are you refusing my hospitality?”

Steve goes pink instantly.

“Ma,” James says, but he finds it half-funny too.

“Right,” Steve says. “Guess I’ll sit down then?” 

Steve gets to sit next to James, thank goodness - they don’t subject him to Grant - and they put him right up the top of the table, at James’ dad’s left.

“Are you alright with saying grace?” James’ mom asks, and Steve smiles.

“In English or Latin?” he says.

James’ mom’s mouth opens just a little, but James’ dad says,

“By all means,” and holds out a hand, _you have the floor_.

Steve glances between James’ parents but recovers quickly.

“Of course,” he says, and makes the sign of the cross. _“Benedic, Domine, nos et haec tua dona quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.”_

“Amen,” Everybody echoes, and then they get to eating.

James’ mom looks seriously impressed, though Steve does not appear to have noticed, and they start passing the fries and the salad and the ketchup and the mayo. His mom did fried onions and fried mushrooms and roasted tomato, and there’s bacon and onion rings and garlic butter and cheese…

Steve has a little of everything and so, when he’s done and everyone’s taken what they want, James picks up the bowls and heaps more onto Steve’s plate.

“N- ah-ah,” Steve says, but James taps his hand and Steve subsides.

“Sorry,” he says, to James’ mom, but she doesn’t look concerned. 

“It's fine," She says. "The news said you need more calories than we do.”

Steve frowns.

“It did?” he says. “I mean, yes-”

“Couple years back,” Grant says. “One of their Avenger Specials.”

“Ah,” Steve says. 

Grant wants to know about recent things, _y’know, things that aren’t classified, obviously!_ James’ dad wants to hear about conflicts of personal accounts in the books he’s read about the second World War, _because one book says it was just south of the Maginot line, and the other one says it was north._

Steve - through patience born presumably of years of same-old-same-old interviews and impromptu conversations in cafés and supermarkets, fields it all expertly. James thinks it’s almost like he’s quoting books himself, present at the time or not, but then he remembers that Steve’s memory is nigh-on photographic. This must be like describing a picture that’s right in front of him, maybe, or recounting a well-loved movie.

They ask him about tactics and uniform design, about his bike and about his home before the war. They wind up on a whole new tack when Steve starts talking about art and cooking. (James hopes they’re getting it out of their system this time because, as easy as it seems to be for Steve, James does not want every family gathering to be Steve Rogers Trivia Evening.) 

“People actually eat what you cook?” Grant says, presumably forgetting who the fuck he’s talking to, and there’s a couple of seconds of incredulous silence as everybody else realizes what Grant has just said and to whom he’s just said it.

“Only if I tell them someone else made it,” Steve answers, grinning, unconcerned. “I try and make it taste as much like takeout as possible.”

“I mean, some takeout’s pretty bad-” he smirks, and then jumps, indicative of the fact that Delilah’s kicked him under the table. “Ow!” he says. “What-”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Steve says. “That way I don’t gotta change anything about how it turns out.”

Grant snorts.

“How did you get into cooking?” Delilah asks, and James isn’t sure he’s grateful to her for sticking to a subject that isn’t fighting or classified or annoyed she’s asked a question with a personal answer.

“Friend of mine from the VA suggested it,” Steve says. “If all your ingredients taste good, chances are it’ll still be edible even if the whole thing is fu- messed up.” He looks sheepishly at James’ mom. “Sorry, Ma’am.” She doesn’t say anything but James _sees_ her nearly smile when Steve goes back to his story. “It’s somethin’ to do, you can’t hurt anybody unless you set the kitchen on fire, and you usually wind up with somethin’ for your troubles once you’re done. Plus you can cover disasters with frosting or tomato sauce, depending on what you made. It’s a good way to learn your hands're good for more’n just killin'.”

James hears Steve say the words but isn’t in time to stop him, and then desperately hopes nobody’s going to make fun of him, or ask him more personal questions.

It’s not difficult to see that everybody’s a little thrown by it - smiles are fading, gazes are dropping, because holy shit, that guy from the TV and the History Books has Feelings and Issues oh-em-gee. James is about to change the subject when Becca says,

“You’re assuming your cooking is _good.”_

“You ate my bacon,” Steve says, not concerned in the slightest.

“Yeah but it’s _bacon_ ,” she answers, and he tilts his head, nods slowly.

“That’s fair,” he says. “James can back me up though, I’m his personal chef, right, kid?”

James tries to smile.

“Sure,” he says.

“There,” Steve says. “Y’ever heard a more convincing ‘sure’ in your life?”

Becca giggles.

But, as the evening wears on, James finds that he’s had enough being sociable and on his best behavior. He’s had enough of discussing his dad’s favorite books and his uncle’s favorite films. He can see that Delilah’s thinking the same thing when he finally says,

“Listen,” and yawns, “I’m exhausted.”

“Mmm,” Steve says. “I actually have to be up in the morning, so I ought to get going.”

James puts a hand on Steve’s leg to stop him leaving, and looks at his mom.

“Ma, I’m gonna go back with Steve.”

She frowns just a little, looks at James’ father and then at Grant, Delilah, Rebecca.

“Uhm,” she says, “that’s….alright? If you want to?”

Steve leans down.

“Sure,” he says, “if you’re sure?”

James looks at him. 

“I’m sure,” he says. “I’m already packed, actually, I wanted to get into work early in the morning so I was gonna go back to mine tonight anyway.”

His mom looks a little perplexed, and looks between him and Steve, but James knows Steve looks just as perplexed as she does. Becca’s the only one who knows this was the plan the whole time, rather than Steve who must apparently have thought he’d want to stay after asking for an out? And James isn’t entirely sure what’s cemented the plan in his mind, but he wants out. He needs out, in fact, and he’s trying to find as nice a way to get out fast as he can.

“That’s fine by me,” Steve says. “You want me to take me back to your apartment?”

“Please,” James says, although he’ll ask for a change of destination once they’re on the move.

He excuses himself from the table and goes upstairs to get his bag, realizing on the way down that maybe Steve wasn’t ready to leave. Except that Steve had brought James his leathers and the spare helmet, and is busy getting back into his jacket when James gets back on the ground floor. 

James ducks into the downstairs bathroom to change, and Steve is busy showing Becca how much his pants squeak when he comes back out.

“See? I sound like an old staircase-”

“Okay?” James says, and Steve looks at him.

“Uh…yeah, you need to go get anything or-?”

“It’s okay,” James says, hefting his bag up onto his shoulder. “I’m ready.”

Steve looks at him, blinks, looks at his parents. His whole family have assembled in the small foyer of his childhood home, and James feels like he’s suffocating.

“Oh,” Steve says, and then looks past him. “Well, it was great to meet you all-”

“You too,” Grant says first - of course Grant says it first, and he goes to shake Steve’s hand.

Steve’s a supersoldier but James still worries Grant’s gonna take Steve’s hand off. 

He kisses Delilah and James’ mom on the cheek, hugs Becca, shakes hands with James’ dad. James hugs everyone, squeezes his mom extra tight, but finds it hard to look at any of his family members right now except Becca.

“I’ll text Becks when I get back,” he says, and then he walks out, with Steve walking after him.

“Okay so we’re talking about that,” Steve says, very very quietly, not moving his lips very much as he opens the storage on the bike to stow James’ bag. 

“I want to go to yours,” James answers, and Steve’s movements slow just a little before they pick up again.

“Alright,” he says.

James feels like an idiot, like a fool. He isn’t sure he knows why, but it burns high on his cheeks and sits unsteady in his stomach. Steve sorts him out - like every child has ever needed - makes sure his buckles and straps are tight, all with his family crowded in the doorway like he’s about to leave on a cruise ship bound for Europe or something, like his mother should be wearing a hat and tea-dress, like his sister should be waving a handkerchief. He blames the ridiculous amount of World War Two stuff they talked about over dinner for that one, but he gets on the back of Steve’s motorcycle and waves, and Steve waves too before he checks both ways even though there’s literally no traffic in sight, and pulls out into the the road.

_“Alright, honey, you wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”_ he asks, and James tucks his head down between Steve’s shoulder blades.

“When we get back to yours,” he says.

Steve takes a breath, James hears him through the speaker in his helmet, but then he doesn’t say anything. James is kind of glad.

~

Steve parks up in the underground lot and follows James in. He takes the jacket and James changes while Steve makes hot chocolate. He spices it, too, which is just unfairly good of him considering how funny James is feeling, and they snuggle up on the couch together. It’s cold enough that Steve’s seen fit to put the fire on low, and he puts the ambient lighting on instead of the main illumination, warming the place up a little.

“Okay,” he says, putting his arm around James. “So you wanna help me out here?”

“I didn’t mean to make you think I was in trouble,” James says, not really knowing until he says it that it’s still bigging him. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Steve shakes his head, looks around the room.

“Nah,” he says. “I figured you were probably fine, ‘cause I know you know you can contact Jarvis for help. I just…didn’t want to risk it.”

“Well I’m sorry anyway,” James says, and he puts his hot chocolate on the coffee table so he can cuddle up to Steve.

Steve kisses the top of his head.

“And what about at the house?” he says. “You wanna tell me what it was got you so wound up?”

James shakes his head just a little - not a no, more like incredulity at the memory.

“Honestly?” he says. “I’m embarrassed. I’m _mortified_ , and I know you said it’s fine but I’m still so…” he closes his eyes. “God it was disappointing.”

Steve moves a few strands of hair out of James’ eyes.

“What was, honey?”

“They,” James says, “it, _God_ , you were at _church!”_

“They’re not the first, James, it’s-”

“I know! That's the point!” James says. “And it’s not even that, God, it’s not even that everybody knows who you are and nobody respects your privacy, it’s that it was _my family_. I expected better of them-”

“Hey now,” Steve says, “it’s not like they treated me like a piece of meat, huh? I got the sign of peace from your uncle. He didn’t start on the war stuff until we started talkin’ at dinner, he was just fine in church.”

James rubs his face.

“I know that,” he says. “Rationally I know that. But then they started on it! And it was all the time! It’s bad enough you’ve had to go through it but then they want stories over dinner and everything they said was like ‘Captain America’ this and ‘Captain America’ that and just…” James tapers off into silence and tries to ignore the way his eyes feel hot. Even if Steve doesn’t mind, it was embarrassing, he’d expected better. And then, God, “I can’t believe they gave you the third degree!”

“I wouldn’t call it the third degree,” he says softly. “Plus, it’s nice, actually. Means they care about you.” He squidges James a little more. “That’s a good thing.”

James still feels wobbly.

“It’s just been a long weekend,” he says. “I like Grant and Delilah but all of us together in that little place, and Grant can be so…so…”

“Overwhelming?” Steve says.

James nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like I can manage a day or so but _god_. Everything’s a joke, y’know? He’s always on - sometimes I don’t know how he hasn’t driven Delilah nuts.”

“It’s understandable,” Steve says. “I get like that after galas and parades and things. You can only hold a smile for so long, right?”

James chews the inside of his cheek, tries not to think about the way Grant’s eyes lit up, the way his dad couldn’t stop talking, the way his mother frowned and squinted and how Delilah barely said anything.

“What is it really, sweetheart,” Steve says. “What else is gettin’ to you?”

And it’s absurd to be so wound up about it, ridiculous to think that James’ eyes feel hot and his throat feels tight.

“I,” James says, and then he turns his face a little more into Steve’s shoulder. “I wanted them to like you,” he says. 

“They like me,” Steve answers. “Your dad gave me a beer, your mom fed me.”

“No, but I mean,” he says, “I wanted them to like you for Steve, not Captain America and you…I wanted…” This is so hard. It’s _so_ hard. “I know you’re older than me,” he says, and he wishes his eyes didn’t sting. “I know you’re older than me and smarter-”

“James-”

“-and I know you’re an Avenger but I wanted, I wanted you to meet them on _our_ terms and I wanted them to not…care about…” he swallows hard. “I knew the age thing would be an issue for them but I wanted it not to be, I wanted it not to be _so much._ God. Is it always like this for you?”

He knows it’s stupid, he knows they don’t know Steve well and that it’s a valid concern, he knew when they started dating that he’d have to tell his parents and he knew they’d react like they reacted but he wishes so much they’d surprised him, and it hurts more than he wants to admit - maybe more than it should - that they didn’t.

When he looks up, Steve is smiling down at him, expression open, a soft smile on his lips - that gentle, rueful little thing.

“Give it time, sweetheart,” he says, puts his drink down to tuck his fingers under James’ chin, tilting his head up to press a brief kiss to his lips. “Give it time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here is [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) if you'd like to know the dates of the occurrences in this fic up to part 10.


End file.
